


A Little Different

by incogneat_oh



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, batfamily, my one and only pairing fic, the mildest pairing fic around but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 11:44:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12058308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incogneat_oh/pseuds/incogneat_oh
Summary: Nightwing laughs. Says, “I think you had a bit of a mishap, kiddo.”“W-what do you mean?”“Magic,” Dick says, waggling his fingers. And his eyebrows.





	A Little Different

–

Nightwing is legging it across Gotham’s rooftops. All Oracle had told him was that there had been an unusual energy spike near Red Robin’s patrol route, and that her cameras had short-circuited, so she couldn’t tell him much more. Except that Red wasn’t answering his comm.  
  
Nightwing picks up the pace.   
  
(Not that he’s worried.)  
  
He double–  _triple–_  checks the coordinates Oracle had sent him, because– it’s just an alleyway. One of hundreds in Gotham. A regular, run-of-the-mill, empty alleyway. He checks the surrounding area, within a few hundred meters in every direction. Looks into maps of Gotham sewers and underground canals. In case he’s just too high up.  
  
And he finds nothing.  
  
He doesn’t panic, because Tim is a bona fide badass (Dick’s words, not his). But it would be nice to know what’s going on, just–  _he’s not worried, okay_.   
  
And so, in typical bird fashion, he scales a building, tries to get his bearings from a height.  
  
That’s when there’s a tiny brush of fabric, a barely-there exhalation of breath, and–  
  
Two short, skinny arms wrapping around his torso, a muted cry of “Nightwing!” and then “Thank goodness, I was just– Gotham looks so different! And I couldn’t figure out where I was, but then you–”  
  
Nightwing eases the small, brightly-coloured figure away from him. And stares into the face of a tiny, very familiar Robin.   
  
“–know I’m still new at this, but please don’t laugh…” and little Tim trails off partway through a thought, mouth falling open. Eyes wide behind the domino, stark against his pale face. After a minute, “Even  _you_ look different!”  
  
Dick lip twitches, and he mostly manages to suppress his smile. “You mean old.”  
  
The Robin backs up a half-step, suddenly unsure, and Nightwing laughs. Says, “I think you had a bit of a mishap, kiddo.”  
  
“W-what do you mean?”  
  
“Magic,” Dick says, waggling his fingers. And his eyebrows.   
  
And when Tim looks at him with disbelief and the tiniest touch of contempt, familiar even through the mask, Dick can’t help but laugh again. In spite of the seriousness of their situation.   
  
He says, “Timmy. Buddy. You’ve, uh. Shrunk. You’re, what, ten years old?”  
  
“I’m thirteen,” Tim declares, annoyed. Hands on hips, drawing himself up to a truly unimpressive height. And  _God_ , was he ever really that small? One hit and the kid’d break in half. How did he or Bruce ever let this tiny thing out of their  _sight_?  
  
“My bad,” Dick says and doesn’t mean it. He says,“You're… supposed to be much older. Now, I mean.”  
  
“Wow, really?” Tim says, wriggling his fingers in front of him experimentally. And, hopeful, “Do I  _look_  older?”  
  
Dick coughs, rubs a hand over the back of his neck. Suggests, “Why don’t we see about getting you home, little Robin? Get B to take a look at you?”  
  
And the Robin glances around at the hardly-familiar city, frown heavy on his face. “Yeah, I–”  
  
“Follow my lead, huh?” Dick offers cheerfully, tries to wipe that expression of worry off the young features. “I lead the way, and you can shadow me.” He grins. “That is… if you think you can keep up.”  
  
The kid smiles at that, an honest-to-God smile, says, “Yeah okay.”   
   
  
  
They wind up getting to one of Tim’s bunkers, Dick breaking through the security system with relative ease (does it count as breaking in if you take the owner with you?) and stealing  _(borrowing)_  his bike.  
  
“Holy cow,” the kid says, mouth hanging open. He crouches on the concrete, the bottom of his cape pooling at his feet. It covers his form completely. “This is a  _nice_  bike!”  
  
“I’m glad you like it,” Dick says, and, “It’s yours, y'know.”   
  
The kid turns the eerie, wide-eyed domino stare on him. Makes a sound in the back of his throat, one gauntleted hand brushing shyly against the immaculate paintwork on the Duc. Reverent. He turns back to the bike almost immediately, just  _watches_.  
  
And Dick adds, “Grown-up you would kick my ass for taking it.”  
  
“My bike?” Tim says, standing finally. (The difference in height is barely noticeable.) “ _Mine_?” And then, “ _Wait_ , I can kick your ass?”  
  
Dick winks, tosses the kid a helmet. Says, “When I let you.”  
  
Tim huffs at that, puffed up and  _precious_  and a little flushed, hides the colour in his helmet. And he dutifully climbs onto the bike behind Dick.  
  
He rests his small hands on Dick’s hips, hesitant, and Dick scoffs, says, “Sweatpea. It goes a little faster than you might be expecting.” and he yanks Tim forward by the wrists, manually wraps the boy’s arms tight around him, ignoring the indignant yelp.   
  
He feels Tim’s helmeted head press shyly into his back and he laughs, knows Tim will feel the rumble through his torso. And then he starts the bike, yells “Hold tight!” over the roar and  _accelerates_.  
  
  
  
Miraculously, they get home in one piece. Tiny Tim, weak-kneed, clambers off the bike, tries to hold himself steady. Wobbles a bit on the Cave floor.  
  
Dick steadies him by a shoulder, tries not to grin too obnoxiously (although how much pride the kid can fit in that itty bitty form is definitely up for debate). “B?” he calls, loudly. “Bruce, guess what!”  
  
And Tim shrinks down, a bit, into his side, says, “The Cave’s different, too.”  
  
Nightwing guides the little Robin further into the Cave, calls out for Bruce again.   
  
Alfred appears, first, eyebrows raising a touch. “Why, Master Timothy!” he says. “You are looking younger every time I see you.”  
  
Tim gives this little snort-laugh, and it’s been so many  _years_  since Dick has heard that sound, nostalgia and fondness bubble up into a chuckle.   
  
And Alfred asks, “Aside from the obvious, dear boy, do you feel quite alright?”  
  
“Mhm,” Tim says. “It’s just kind of weird, y'know? I don’t remember being grown up or anything. And everything’s changed!”  
  
Alfred’s smiling down at him, looking fond and a little sad. Settles a hand on his caped shoulder and squeezes, says, “Come along, Master Tim. Let me fetch you some tea while we wait for Master Bruce.”  
  
Dick trails behind, listens to Tim’s cheerful chatter. Watches his arms wave animatedly, short hair sticking up at the back, cape shifting over his thin, small back.   
  
He really is adorable.  
  
  
They don’t have to wait long for Bruce. Tim’s sitting at the console, feet hanging a ways of the ground. Swinging them, sipping cheerfully at his tea and trying (without much success) to smother his questioning.   
  
Dick’s in a computer chair nearby, swivelling from side-to-side. Lets Tim chatter at him, nervous and a little awkward the way he’d been the first year or so, fidgeting more for every minute of silence. Nervous fingers twitching against the desk.  
  
And when Batman returns, Dick calls out “Hey guess what!”  
  
Tim turns quickly, scooching his behind over the desk to get a better view of the man walking across the Cave. He hops down with a tiny little skip, chirps “Hey Batman!”  
  
His mouth falls slack. And he slides off the cowl, absent-mindedly ruffs his hair from where it’s flat against his head. Bruce says, “…Hello, Tim. I see there’s. Been an  _incident_.”  
  
“What gives you that idea?” Tim says, grinning wide. Hands on hips.  
  
And Bruce’s lips quirk into a smile, he says, “You’re feeling okay, then?”  
  
“Never better,” Tim agrees. And his brow wrinkles. “But I can’t remember what happened. I was just suddenly in the middle of Gotham, and it looked different. But then Dick came and got me.”   
  
Bruce steps forward, rests a leather-clad hand on Tim’s head.  
  
The kid looks up at him with shock and  _unguarded delight_ , eyes wide and wondering. Mouth agape.  
  
And then–  
  
“Is that _Drake_?”  
  
Dick squeezes his eyes shut for a second, hands tightening on on the arms of the chair. Then he launches out of it, worried, and Tim’s staring over at the other boy. Says hoarsely,  
  
“…Robin?”  
  
“Timmy, his name’s Damian,” Dick says, as the two brightly-clad boys eye each other off.   
  
And Tim says, after a moment, “Someone want to tell me why he hates me so much?”  
  
“He doesn’t,” Dick says, automatic. Then, more firmly, “He  _doesn’t_ , right Dami?”  
  
Damian opens his mouth to speak, and Bruce nudges him. He says, with difficulty, through gritted teeth, “…Of course not.”   
  
Tim tilts his head up toward Dick, says, quiet, “How come he’s Robin now?” A bit pleading. Afraid. Like he wants Dick to deny it.  
  
And Dick kisses his forehead, says, “Everybody grows up sometime, Timmy.” Smiling gently. He pushes aside the guilt for now, just rests his hand on Tim’s neck. Tries to soothe the hurt.  
  
Tim’s eyes are still a little wide (a little watery, but Tim’s determined not to show it), but he’s nodding. Lips pursed. Like it makes sense.  
  
That’s when Damian turns to Bruce and says, “Father–”  
  
And Tim goes rigid all over, stiff and uncomfortable under his hand. Face going completely blank in that horrible way that Dick knows means his heart is  _breaking_ , and something in Dick’s chest pangs.   
  
He says, “He’s your son?” to Bruce, and “Oh.” when the man nods.   
  
Damian’s sneer is triumphant.  
  
Dick feels goosebumps rise under his palm, feels the tiny shiver Tim tries to suppress. And then he smiles, bright and false and so believable, says, “It’s nice to meet you, Damian.”  
  
He sticks out a hand that Damian ignores, draws himself up at the look of clear contempt on the younger boy’s face. Damian takes two steps closer, looming over the older boy obviously.   
   
He does nothing but stand in Tim’s personal space for a moment, an inch taller and two years younger. Tim doesn’t back down.  
  
And right when Bruce and Dick are a step away from voicing warnings, commands, Damian backs off. Clicks his tongue and stalks off without another word.   
  
There’s silence in the Cave.  
  
“Ignore him, kiddo,” Dick says finally, with false cheer. Shatters the silence. “He gets like that.” And, “B, if you don’t have anything pressing, I’m gonna take Timmy upstairs. Zat says she can come check him out tomorrow, but that it doesn’t look especially harmful. At least not for now.”   
  
Bruce says nothing for a moment, stands still under the weight of his cape and the world.   
  
Dick adds, “It’s been kind of a long night.”  
  
And the man nods, turns from stone back into a person. His mouth shifts into a smile and he claps Tim’s shoulder. “Of course. Goodnight, boys.”  
  
Dick keeps his hand on Tim’s neck the whole way up the stairs, eventually sets him on the end of his bed. Digs out some clothes.   
  
And Tim doesn’t say anything at all, watches silently as Dick burrows through the drawers for something close to the right size.   
  
Eventually, “So Bruce has a son? A… a real one?”  
  
Dick deliberately doesn’t turn around, tries not to let this turn into something big. Says, absently, “Uh-huh. He only found out about him two years ago, give or take. It was quite a shock.”  
  
With false casualness, Tim says, “Oh yeah?” even as Dick tosses him a t-shirt and a pair of boxers. He sheds the outer layers of his costume while Dick continues,  
  
“Just showed up one day in a basket on the doorstep.”  
  
And Tim says, “Wow,  _really_?” even as Dick snorts “Damian? Heck no.”  
  
The kid huffs, and Dick laughs a little more. Says, “He takes… a lot of getting used to.”  
  
Tim says, as if it’s only occurred to him, “Oh! I should call my dad–” and then “–except that I’m supposed to be an adult right now and probably don’t tell him where I am all the time.” He clambers gracelessly into bed in his oversized clothes and sits cross-legged, looks at Dick standing in the doorway.  
  
Dick just gives Tim this sad little smile, unsure what to say, and Tim says, “Did he–?”  
  
The boy looks so worried, so panicked, that Dick has to swallow the lump in his throat. And Tim says, “Did he– find out? About Robin? Do we not talk anymore?” and “Is that– why? I grew up?” and it’s awful, really, how Dick can pick out the hope and guilt in his voice. Because Tim so wants a father to love him, but obviously can’t stand the thought of losing Robin to anything else.   
  
Dick crosses to the bed, sits beside where Tim is half-laying. He gives Tim a gentle, fond smile, one that’s a little sad, and tells him, “Y'know, handsome, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”  
  
And Tim gets that wrinkle between his eyebrows, one Dick couldn’t remember him having at this age, and frowns. Unsure.   
  
Something mischievous sparks in him, and he smiles wider. He catches Tim’s chin gently in one hand, tips forward very slowly. Watches through half-lidded eyes as Tim gets redder and redder, a little panicked.  
  
He presses a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of Tim’s mouth. He pulls back after a moment, says decisively, “Yep. A  _lot_  to talk about.”  
  
And he pulls up the covers, half tucking Tim in, and stands to leave. The boy sits blankly in bed, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Face flushed dark. Murmurs, “You… and me?”   
  
And on realising Dick’s leaving, he dives out of bed, but Dick beats him to the door, slams it behind him. Sing-songs, “Goodnight, little Timmy!”  
  
The doorknob rattles in his hand as Tim determinedly jiggles it, and he smothers the urge to laugh as Tim says, sounding slightly strangled “Are you actually gonna leave it there? That's– just.  _What_?”  
  
Dick just grins. As much as he misses his boyfriend, he thinks. He wouldn’t mind having this Tim around for a little while.   
  
 **-end-**

**Author's Note:**

> Also on [tumblr.](http://incogneat-oh.tumblr.com/post/26977715873/a-little-different)


End file.
